


heatstroke

by puchuupoet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Gabriel (Supernatural), Bruises, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Companionable Snark, Drinking, First Aid, Flirting, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hot Weather, Ice Cream, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Serious Injuries, Stubborn Gabriel, Surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puchuupoet/pseuds/puchuupoet
Summary: Hunting monsters in Texas during a heat wave and all Dean wants is a cold shower, some ice cream, and a nap.He wasn't planning on sharing any of that with a broken angel, but here they are.
Relationships: Gabriel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Currently very gen/tame, but the rating and tags will change as I keep writing. I'll do my best to make note of when that happens. Thanks!

"Tell me why again, please, Sammy," Dean mutters into the phone. "Why you said 'sure, we'd love to go hunt something in Texas in the middle of the summer.' Cause I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around this one."

Sam's response is tinny, the reception at the town's library hit or miss, he claims. Dean's pretty sure it's cause they're two towns apart, owing to that library being the closest library to their motel. He’d normally question that sort of distance, but Sam seems comfortable with it, and if Dean’s gotta be honest, the space has been good for him as well. 

"It's fine, man, it's just. You know how hot it is, right?" Wrangling the phone between his ear and shoulder, Dean grabs the bag of groceries from the trunk. "Nah, you stay and get that librarian to help you out more. I've got stuff to work on here. I'm picking the next case though."

He pockets his phone before grabbing the motel key, thankful for the brief walk between the Impala and the room. Unlocking the door, he can hear the weak puttering of the AC doing its best. Readying himself, eyes closed, he savors that first step into their too-small room, away from the sun and dust.

It's everything he had been hoping for on the drive back from the store. Cool air, a full fridge, and the room to himself with nowhere to immediately go. Dreaming of a cold shower and ice cream, Dean backs into the door, closing it with a harsh noise. An equally broken noise responds, causing all those happy thoughts to vanish as he grabs for his gun, groceries dropped unceremoniously to the ground. 

"Welcome home, sweetheart," Gabriel manages to croak out, hand up in a half-hearted wave. "Please don't shoot me."

"The fuck." Dean stares, trying to take it all in. 

"Yeah, yeah, sum it up perfectly, why doncha." Gabriel drops his arm, wincing at the movement. "Any chance you'd be a doll and grab me some ice?"

Holstering his gun and grabbing the groceries, Dean heads to the kitchenette. "You want something to drink with that?" He can hear a huffed out laugh, followed by a weak cough. "You okay?"

"Water, please. And not even close, Dean-o."

Dean frowns, shoving the Drumsticks and frozen pizzas into the freezer before pulling two ice trays out. There's no plastic baggies around, but Dean manages to safety pin a towel around the loose ice. 

"Here ya go," Dean hands off the towel, watching as Gabe pulls his shirt away from his body to stuff the bundle up it. There's wincing, some soft swears as he adjusts it, but Gabe soon has it comfortably up against his ribs. "So. You gonna tell me what happened? And why you're here instead of... anywhere else?" It's more surprise than any other emotion driving that last question, and Dean hopes Gabe picks up on that part. He's not mad or anything, seeing him here, just. _Confused_ , his brain supplies.

"There was a fight. Fights have winners and losers, bucko."

"That doesn't tell me shit." Dean ignores how Gabriel's ignoring sharing any details. There's bruising on his hips, purples and greens that both dip under Gabriel's jeans and run up underneath the ice pack. 

"I fell sort of in the middle of the two." Gabe groans as he shifts on the couch. "Still alive, just, y'know. Ribs got in the way of things." The shirt gets tugged back down, the intent behind the gesture clear. 

"So snap it all better." Dean sets the glass of water on the side table before bee-lining it to the freezer. "Ice cream?"

"Magic fingers aren't operational right now, buddy. And do you really need to ask." 

That's what gets Dean to pause, to twist around to really take Gabriel in. There's a sallowness there, tired eyes that register as _exhausted_ to Dean, hit him like a gut punch as _human_ , and Castiel's the only other one Dean's seen that type of hurt on before; someone not used to receiving that deep lingering physicality.

"So it'll take more than a quarter to turn you on?" Dean winces at the wheezing laugh he earns; at the contrast of it against the paleness of Gabriel's fingers as he grips the arm of the couch. "Shit, I shouldn't have."

"I'll forgive you if you hurry up with the ice cream you promised me," Gabe gets out, and Dean moves, grabbing two Drumsticks before double-checking the AC, making sure it's still at full blast. 

Dean fumbles a bit before sitting down on the couch, balancing the treats so that he's able to unwrap one ice cream cone before handing it off to Gabe. He pointedly ignores the way Gabe looks at him, watches as Dean unwraps his own and has to chase down the already-melting ice cream as it threatens to drip onto his jeans. 

Dean takes a moment, crunching through the chocolate layer and savoring the burst of pain in his temple. Physical pain...it sucks, yeah, but it's contained, it can be controlled. It's a fixable aspect in this whole mess. 

"So," Dean lets himself settle in a bit more, turning to face the other man. "What happened to the ribs?"

Gabriel grimaces at the reminder. "Was caught off-guard, that's all."

"Broken or bruised?"

"Cracked, I think," Gabe meets his eyes. "Can't tell you more about the fingers though."

Dean allows himself a shrug before standing up, shoving the rest of the cone into his mouth. At least one good idea got to happen. "You're here, I gotta first aid kit. One thing at a time." Glancing around, he offers a hand. "Let's get you into bed first."

Gabriel stares at the hand in front of him, taking in a shallow breath as his eyes flicker between Dean’s face and the ice cream still in his own hand. Dean sighs. “Fine, you finish that, I’ll grab the kit. Better?”

“Much.” Gabe settles a bit, focusing on chasing after the melting bits with his tongue, and then it’s Dean’s turn to try and pull his gaze away from the sight before him.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Dean gets back to the room, he’s in a better head space. A clearer one, he thinks, making sure to bolt the door behind him. Of all the things to deal with, a broken angel isn’t the worst project to land in his lap. So to speak. 

Turning around, his facade falters a bit. Gabe’s slouched down a bit, fingers clutching the ice pack tight against his side. Dean's seen Castiel like this before, pale and bloody, his Grace dimming with every human heartbeat. But Cas is Cas, and Gabe's a fuckin' archangel who has no business being that pale and trembling on Dean's motel couch. 

"You good to move?" Dean shifts his supplies, tucking the first aid bag under his arm next to the bottle of whiskey that's already snug against his side. 

"Don't ask stupid questions, Winchester," Gabriel murmurs, but Dean can see his fingers flexing, loosening his grip on the ice as he readies himself. "You gonna help me up or just keep voyeuring?"

Dean just shakes his head, offering his free hand. Gabe's hand is clammy in his, and Dean tries not to grip too hard when he pulls the other man up. Even then, Gabriel ends up pressed against Dean's chest, his forehead bumping his shoulder. 

They stand there, Dean listening as Gabe catches his breath and this is not the sort of monster hunt he's signed up for. Sam had promised him something simple, something straightforward, as black and white as they can get, and now Dean's got an angel up in his space, fingers tight in his and the other hand suddenly gripping Dean's side. Gabriel shifts as he braces himself, and the ice pack tumbles free, hitting the floor with a damp noise. 

"Hey, hey, I got you," Dean tries to reassure him, tries to reassure them both, he realizes, cause neither seem to know what the hell's going on. "Can you walk okay?"

Gabriel just nods, and Dean doesn't question it. He doesn't know how they make it to the bedroom successfully, but they do, the mattress butting up against his legs. Gabriel falls a bit, trusting in Dean’s grasp on him, rolling onto the bed. He bites back a groan at the impact, the noise trailing off once Dean gets him settled.

Emptying the supplies onto the bedside table, Dean quickly grabs a chair from the corner, a basic wooden one he can skootch up to the edge of the bed without arms or upholstery getting in the way. Looking over the scene before him, he tries to take it all in, the way he was taught. Breathing’s shallow but even, eyes closed, right arm’s across the belly but not gripping at his side as hard. Gabriel’s left arm is loose at his side, and Dean touches that wrist, feels a clamminess that makes him frown. 

“How well can you move?”

One eye opens to glare at Dean. “Depends, I guess.”

“Need your shirt off.”

Gabriel turns in on himself at the words, legs curling up as his arm tightens around himself. “I just need to rest. I can get out of your hair after a nap.”

“Oh I see,” Dean shifts to lean against the chair. “You show up without calling, eat my ice cream, and hog the covers.” Gabriel has the decency to at least look a little guilty, and Dean runs with it. “Just let me look at it, I’ll be gentle, and once that’s been settled, I’ll leave you alone. Even make you dinner, if that helps.”

Dean can see Gabe processing the offer, the testing breaths he takes until one’s just a bit too deep and he coughs out a pained groan.

“Fine. You gonna share your dessert too?”

“I’m hurt you even have to ask, Gabriel.” Dean ducks into the bathroom to wash his hands, then settles back into the chair. The kit is fully stocked, and Dean grabs a pocket knife out of the mess of band aids and sewing kits. It opens with a comforting _snkt_ and Dean nods at Gabriel’s arm before he pulls the hem of his t-shirt down. “Watch yourself.”

Gabe does so, moving his arm to hang off the bed and out of the way. The sound of fabric tearing is harsh over the constant humming of the AC, and when Dean finally stops, Gabe’s side is laid bare from his armpit down to his hip. Dean mutters out a couple of curses. 

“Is it everything you were hoping for?” Gabe’s eyes are closed again, his lips parted. Dean doesn’t answer immediately, just breathes some warmth on his fingers before gently tracing the bruises before him. It’s bad, yeah, but he’s seen bad before, and what aches is that this looks _familiar_ , the way the skin seems to have tried to heal itself but couldn’t, the way the bruises ripple with every breath Gabriel takes. It’s like so many other injuries Dean’s been faced with trying to patch up, except everything he thought he knew about healing is uncertain; is trembling in his head because when it comes to harming angels like this, the possibilities are limited and dangerous and hazy. Especially when the patient’s a stubborn pain in the ass. 

“And more so, gorgeous,” Dean finally responds, and that sends Gabe into a shocked coughing fit. It works though, Gabe’s torso stretching a bit and then Dean can finally see it, a goddamn hole in the dumbass’s side. 

“The hell are you on, Winchester?” 

“That there’s a goddamn bullet in you!”

Gabriel at least looks slightly guilty, which Dean wants to savor but can’t bring himself to at this point. Maybe later. Depending on how later turns out.

“Bullet’s still in you?” Dean waits for a nod before continuing. “You weren’t gonna tell me.” Another nod. “You realize we have to get that out before shock or infection or sepsis happens, right? Cause if you’re right about the angel-ness of you being… lacking, do you know how this’ll affect you?”

“If you wanted to be told that you’re right, you could’ve just asked instead of laying it all out like that.” Gabriel rolls his head to the side to meet Dean’s gaze. “It hurts, okay. It’s not fixable and I somehow pinged your ostentatious car and found it and you. I know it’s bad. And I knew you’d help me.”

“That’s a hell of a chance to take, trusting in our history together.”

Gabriel shrugs with one shoulder. “I’ve heard the way Castiel talks about you. There’s risk, yeah. There always is. But you’re a good man, Dean Winchester.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “You’re only saying that cause you need me.”

“They can both be true.”

Dean chooses to look away, to stare at the wound instead of those painfully earnest eyes that have left him gutpunched out of nowhere. “You’re playing with fire, you dumbass.”

“No, that’s the other brother. I’m much more charming.”

“Not right now you aren’t,” Dean mutters, but there’s no venom in it. He’s just tired, trying to focus on the best way to pull a bullet out of someone’s ribs. “I got tweezers and whiskey, if you’re ready for this to be over?”

“I’ve got places to see, people to be, Deano. Just tell me when.”

Dean offers a tight smile before grabbing the bottle and taking a swig. It’s a familiar burn, one that starts to get him back into the right head space. A comfortable head space. Again, he’s appreciative of the space between him and Sam right now. Close enough for comfort, far enough away to not deal with the constant bitching. 

He tilts the bottle towards Gabriel, who pauses for a beat before nodding. Dean’s careful, leaning over to tip the bottle into his open mouth. A shudder runs through Gabe’s body when he does swallow, and Dean takes another shot, letting himself settle into the warmth. 

“You always drink before you operate?”

“Keeps my hands steady,” Dean tries for flippant, cleaning off the tweezers with alcohol wipes. He eyes Gabe’s ribs again, trying to measure the hole, and starts to clean the pocketknife as well. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Daddy teach you that?”

“You should be less of a dick when I’m about to have a knife to your ribs.”

“You have no concept of foreplay, you heathen.”

“Give me three minutes and I’ll have you screaming my name, Gabriel.” 

There’s a hitch in Gabe’s breathing, a stutter that maybe Dean normally wouldn’t have caught, if he wasn’t already staring intently at the other man’s body, trying to map out the easiest way to pull the shrapnel out. He avoids looking at Gabe’s face, instead gently manipulating the skin around the entrance wound. The skin is warm there, and Dean forces himself to focus on the task at hand. 

“Need something to bite on?” he offers, and at Gabe’s hesitancy, offers him one of the whittled sticks from the kit. “They’re clean,” Dean tries to reassure him. “We make ‘em new, and they do help.” He places it in Gabe’s far hand, closes Gabe’s fingers around it. “Just in case,” Dean finishes, finally meeting his eyes. They’re wider than normal, and Dean squeezes Gabriel’s other hand. “You ready?”

Gabriel nods, and Dean leans in with the tweezers.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dealing with srs writer's block and am posting just to get something back out into the ao3 world and to get back into the swing of things.


End file.
